The warmth of the fire felt very good on Jocasta's hands, she might have evaded the rain but not the cold. The North was cold, even during the summer, and autumn was fast fading into winter. She wondered how the old man was surviving out here, he seemed to have no servants, and was obviously living in aristocratic squalor. There was a full firebox beside the blaze though it seemed to be of gathered timber rather than professionally split. A dirty plate sat by a side table with the remains of a simple meal of bread and cheese.

"We have come seeking a hold of our people," Otar said, blunt and direct to a fault. The old man rocked back with surprise.

"A dwarf hold? I've never heard of such a thing in these parts, when I was a boy..." Martinus trailed off, apparently lost in some kind of reverie about his long ago childhood. The silence lengthened as Martinus stared off into space, it gradually dawned on Jocasta that none of the dwarves were going to interrupt an elder.

"When you were a boy?" Jocasta prompted, snapping Martinus back to the present moment. Rather than replying the old man stood creakily and moved over to an old cupboard. He pulled it open and rummaged through it, then turned with an object in his hand. 

"By Runar..." Muragrim breathed, effectively doubling the number of syllables Jocasta had ever heard him speak. Martinus held an ancient helmet in his hands like a child. It had a square faceplate and was flanked on both sides by old rusted chainmail. The runes stamped around it's rim were unmistakably dwarven.

"We used to find things down by the waterfall, when the peasants plowed the fields," he turned the helmet over to reveal a bright gash, obviously made by a plow blade.

"Swords, arrowheads, all kinds of things," Martinus said, Jocasta realizes he had avoided mentioning bones for fear the dwarves would take the disturbance of their dead poorly. 

"We must be near," Otar breathed, reaching hesitantly for the helmet. Martinus surrendered it and the dwarf cradled it like a child. Jocasta wasn't so sure, it was possible this was an isolated battlefield like Spellfarm or Krosibaker in the south. Peasants their made a profitable sideline in recovered goods from ancient battles.

"We found a symbol in a library, that looks like part of your sigil," Jocasta said, unrolling one of her innumerable scrolls to reveal the ancient dwarven rune. Martinus hobbled over and peered close.

"Well young lady, there is an ancient stone down by the waterfall I mentioned that bears this mark, touching it was supposed to be bad luck, but we dared each other to do it when we were lads. I must say I'd never drawn a connection to our coat of arms, but I suppose it might be possible."